


accuracy versus precision

by ifreet



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifreet/pseuds/ifreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard has a lot of data.  That doesn't mean he's going to jump to the right conclusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	accuracy versus precision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [umbrella_half](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrella_half/gifts).



Leonard switched off the tricorder. He hid his sigh, schooled his face into something professional under cover of setting the equipment down, and turned to his patient. "Ensign. You're fine."

"Oh," Chekov said, widening his eyes. His hand went to his neck, where the glands were not actually swollen at all. "I was sure I was coming down with something."

"Nope. There's nothing wrong with you." Physically. He fixed Chekov with a stern-but-accessible look. "However, I'm concerned about how often you're coming in. Is there something you'd like to discuss?"

The wide-eyes looked much less like a put-on this time. "No, no."

Leonard frowned. "Nothing? Maybe someone giving you a hard time?"

"No," Chekov said, dropping his eyes.

He let the silence stretch out, but Chekov didn't move to fill it. "Ok," he relented. "Then you're cleared for duty."

Chekov shuffled out, looking more subdued than usual. That was the fourth vague complaint in a week, up from three the week before and two the week before that. _Something_ was up with the kid, but damned if he knew what.

***

Chekov hissed as Leonard sealed the skin on the back of his hand back together. He ran his fingers over the resultant pink scar, then double-checked the lower dermal layers with his tricorder.

"All set." He sat back. Chekov's own fingers lightly retraced the line. "It should heal completely in a couple days." He wasn't worried about the scar. He was worried about the ensign. Chekov had gone from borderline hypochondriac to accident-prone over the past couple weeks, but still insisted nothing was wrong -- other than the injuries that had brought him in. And sure, they were mild injuries, barely requiring any medical treatment at all, but he was growing concerned about the pattern.

"Do I need to come back for a recheck?"

"No-- actually, yes," Leonard said, changing his mind. "Back of the hand's tricky. Thin skin. Come back in tomorrow." Chekov acknowledged the order and left looking cheerful enough.

This had gone on long enough. Officially, he should take his concerns to a counselor or possibly Chekov's direct superior. But unofficially, the captain was his drinking buddy and best friend aboard ship -- and he knew a surprising amount of shipboard gossip for an officer. Before doing anything that might stick to the whiz kid's record, he'd see what Jim could turn up.

***

After Leonard finally worked the conversation around to his concerns about a certain young ensign, Jim laughed at him for a solid five minutes.

Sometimes, he managed to forget -- no, put out of his mind -- that while Jim was a brilliant officer, he was also a bit of an ass. He considered getting up and leaving, but the last time he'd stood up, the deck had swayed disconcertingly beneath his feet. Brandy will do that to a floor.

Jim finally settled down, forehead pressed to Leonard's shoulder. He shrugged, but Jim was never dislodged that easily. "I'm telling you, he's in Sick Bay too frequently. He's avoiding something. Or someone."

"Ha. Wrong." Jim poked him. "I think if you check your records against the duty roster, you'll find he's not missing any shifts while visiting you."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Booones," Jim said, in his obnoxious 'I despair of you' voice. "He's not avoiding anyone; he's _visiting you_."

"Oh." He considered Jim's theory. "Huh."

"Yeah, _huh_." Jim curled lower, until his head was on Leonard's lap. "You think about it. I'm taking a nap."

Leonard rested his head against the wall behind them and thought about it as Jim's breaths evened out. "I hate when you're right," he said into the silence. A minute later, he added, "Also, you had one glass. You're not even drunk. Faker."

Jim didn't so much as twitch in his sleep.

***

The doors to Sick Bay opened. Leonard glanced at the chrono. Chekov had come immediately after his shift. And, yes, this was a planned visit, but Jim had been right about the timing of his prior ailments and accidents -- not one had interfered with the performance of Chekov's duties.

He waved Chekov to an empty bed and finished writing up his report on the latest virus to sweep through Engineering. He needed to get down there and do some poking around -- it seemed like any time one of them came down with something, everyone did, and he was getting curious about the vector. He turned to his patient.

"How's the hand?"

"Good, I think. Thank you." Chekov smiled.

Leonard did not. "Good. We need to talk." Chekov managed to look very small. Neat trick for a tall kid. "The injuries stop now, before I have to report them."

"I don't -- "

"Chekov." The kid dropped his eyes and nodded. "Good." Leonard took a steadying breath. "Since I don't expect to see you in here again for awhile," Chekov's shoulders curved more at that, and Leonard felt more hopeful that he was not about to make a fool of himself thanks to a certain starship captain, "I thought maybe we could meet for dinner." Chekov looked up, and Leonard tested out an uncertain shrug of a smile. "I prefer to socialize socially. Not while working."

"That I would like very much," Chekov replied, smiling broadly. This time, Leonard smiled back.


End file.
